Twistybundle
11-15-2009, 02:04 AM
I just wrote this out - did it on and off for a few hours (playing games at the same time).
I haven't proofread it or anything - so here it is:
Bitter winds battered at the soaked sails and gargantuan waves threatened to engulf the minuscule vessel as it lurched and tossed into the growing maelstrom. The sky had turned to an ominous shade of grey as its burden finally condensed and relentlessly fell on the crew. Despite the impending doom, a spirited rhythmic Nordic chant could be heard over the crash of the waves and the hiss of the rain.
The booming laughter of Viktor brought a smile to Johann's face, despite their situation. “Great Storm eh Johann? Haha!” the drunken mentor yelled as he bailed the brine out of the bottom of the ship. Despite the large quantity of mead Viktor had consumed, he still stood tall – albeit a little unbalanced. Johann sat huddled in a corner over a small brazier. The downpour provoking the dying embers, causing them to hiss and spit in defiance. His blonde hair – now sodden and dirty – hung over his face, giving him a truly miserable appearance. He had been travelling to a remote archipelago of islands off the north coast of Scotland to study with his mentor Viktor, who was a close friend to the captain of the trading cog. “An admirable and clever man” Viktor had called him. Either Viktor's judge of character was terrible, or the captain knew exactly what he was doing. Johann had his bets on the former.
Suddenly, the vessel gave a large lurch to the side, causing coals to scatter over the deck from the brazier. Why his father had sent him away on his nineteenth birthday, he did not know. He had said very little. He recalled his father's words: “You are nineteen, and a man. Now go, a ship waits for you. You will meet a man – Viktor is his name. He will guide you” and with that, his father clasped a talisman into his hands, and sent him on his way. The harsh voice of Captain Edvard interrupted his thoughts: “Men to starboard!” triggering the scuttling of dozens of deckhands as they made their way up the mast and pulled on the many ropes.
The talisman itself was of simple craft, yet the symbol on it was of interest. Pulling it out from under his jerkin, Johann examined it. An odd Pictish letter. Similar to the runes Johann was familiar with, yet...different. Gripping it tightly, he hoped to the gods that they would make it out of the storm. That one day, he would be able to visit his father again. Johann's tears dripped down onto the talisman, mixing with the rain.
Johann was interrupted from his lamentation by a huge cracking sound. The vessel itself surely was tearing in two. Suddenly, a huge object swung at his head as he was thrown across the deck, and all was black.
I haven't proofread it or anything - so here it is:
Bitter winds battered at the soaked sails and gargantuan waves threatened to engulf the minuscule vessel as it lurched and tossed into the growing maelstrom. The sky had turned to an ominous shade of grey as its burden finally condensed and relentlessly fell on the crew. Despite the impending doom, a spirited rhythmic Nordic chant could be heard over the crash of the waves and the hiss of the rain.
The booming laughter of Viktor brought a smile to Johann's face, despite their situation. “Great Storm eh Johann? Haha!” the drunken mentor yelled as he bailed the brine out of the bottom of the ship. Despite the large quantity of mead Viktor had consumed, he still stood tall – albeit a little unbalanced. Johann sat huddled in a corner over a small brazier. The downpour provoking the dying embers, causing them to hiss and spit in defiance. His blonde hair – now sodden and dirty – hung over his face, giving him a truly miserable appearance. He had been travelling to a remote archipelago of islands off the north coast of Scotland to study with his mentor Viktor, who was a close friend to the captain of the trading cog. “An admirable and clever man” Viktor had called him. Either Viktor's judge of character was terrible, or the captain knew exactly what he was doing. Johann had his bets on the former.
Suddenly, the vessel gave a large lurch to the side, causing coals to scatter over the deck from the brazier. Why his father had sent him away on his nineteenth birthday, he did not know. He had said very little. He recalled his father's words: “You are nineteen, and a man. Now go, a ship waits for you. You will meet a man – Viktor is his name. He will guide you” and with that, his father clasped a talisman into his hands, and sent him on his way. The harsh voice of Captain Edvard interrupted his thoughts: “Men to starboard!” triggering the scuttling of dozens of deckhands as they made their way up the mast and pulled on the many ropes.
The talisman itself was of simple craft, yet the symbol on it was of interest. Pulling it out from under his jerkin, Johann examined it. An odd Pictish letter. Similar to the runes Johann was familiar with, yet...different. Gripping it tightly, he hoped to the gods that they would make it out of the storm. That one day, he would be able to visit his father again. Johann's tears dripped down onto the talisman, mixing with the rain.
Johann was interrupted from his lamentation by a huge cracking sound. The vessel itself surely was tearing in two. Suddenly, a huge object swung at his head as he was thrown across the deck, and all was black.